


Easy, Tiger.

by WhatTheBodyGraspsNot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Badboy Keith, Enemies to Lovers, Fist Fights, M/M, Rough Sex, Top Lance, cigarette smoking/alcohol drinking, class clown lance, gay slur in chapter 4 from an oc, private boy's school au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-10-30 01:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot
Summary: Here's the thing. Keith? He thinks he's this huge badboy. And that shit gets on Lance's nerves because he knows for a damn fact that he could fuck him right back into his place if he got the chance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here we go all in one place :) chapters are from various commissions

“Avatar Aangst is back. Exactly _how _many days of suspension is arson supposed to get you again?”

A contrasting picture of ease, Hunk shrugs next to him, his back resting against their oak tree like usual. “I’unno… Does it matter?”

_“Yes.”_

_“Why.”_

Lance frowns, eyes flicking back to where their topic of discussion steals himself away from administrative view in the building alcove, as broody as ever as he brings his cigarette up to his lips. “Because.”

He doesn’t need a reason. They both know damn well that Keith’s only hanging on by a metaphorical thread because his older brother is a counselor here. And even if Lance has never had any specific beef with him - never technically been on the other end of one of his classic fist fights - he still just..._pisses him off. _His whole..._bad boy bullshit. _How he feels the need to throw dirty looks at him all the time. It’s annoying, is what it is.

“If anything, you should be worried about the guys on the soccer team.”

Lance’s frown stays true, watching from across the courtyard as Keith takes another drag of his technically forbidden cigarette. “The soccer team’s harmless.”

But Hunk’s _‘__uh huh’ _is not at all convinced. “You can’t make a joke about them not having balls and expect them to let it go.”

Another gust of wind carries over the stink of smoke just in time for the school’s midfielder to pass their spot - like a message sent from up high - a warning in real-time. But, “Yeah yeah…” Lance mumbles, even as those eyes lock onto his and hold tight, only letting up once he’s passed to allow room for the dark ones across the courtyard to take their place.

Heavy.

Sending a flare up Lance’s spine much more effectively than the first.

He’s just racking up those negative attention points today, isn’t he.

* * *

On Thursday it rains.

It rains so hard that everything kind of sucks a little and Lance is late for a cheer meeting but he’s finding it extremely hard to care.

The running from building to building, you see, is so he can stay dry. Not because he’s late. He’d rather sacrifice some time than show up all soaked and raggedy, thank you very much - which is why he stops at the little standalone building of toilets, the door creaking from the humidity as he pushes himself through.

It’s blissfully empty - everyone else in classes or meetings or _whatever _except for the fact that…

The fact that it’s not empty.

At all.

Lance blinks tiredly - takes a moment - pulls his bag over his shoulder and sets it on the ground as he keeps eye contact with the boy sitting cross-legged on the counter, cigarette perched between his fingers.

Great.

Whatever, he’s just gotta piss. Two seconds and then he can move on with his day.

His shoes squeak against the tile as he turns and takes his place at the urinal. Anyone else would be wary of turning their back to a guy like Keith but right now, Lance has something a little more important to take care of.

He can definitely feel the gaze burning into the back of his head, though. It’s not the first time he’s felt it at this school. But it’s certainly a new experience to hear sneakers gripping down onto the tile, their steps growing closer and closer as he’s slowly advanced on from behind.

Just trying to piss.

Just minding his own damn business.

Just-

Lance’s gaze pulls up tiredly to the wall in front of him - just short of where the one smoking cigarette has passed by his cheek and is now being snuffed out against the white tile.

It sizzles.

Dies out.

Can’t fully distract from the energy lurking close behind him, the arm reached over his shoulder just short of touching.

It’s an intimidation move.

But Lance isn’t having it today.

The sound of the zipper scraping up his uniform pants echoes in the heavy silence...his belt clanking...fabric rustling as he straightens his shirt and then turns - full on - face to face with the boy now inches away so he can ask it.

“Get a good peek?”

His question is rhetorical and they both fucking know it and Lance has to admit he gets a nice little tingle up his spine as he pushes past him, shoulders brushing not very gently on his way to the sink.

He’s gonna get punched. He knows it. He can smell it in the air, clear soap pumping thickly into his hand as he continues on with his business before-

“Stop staring at me.”

A pause. A moment, soap lathered but fingers stilling until… “Who’s staring…”

The faucet handle squeaks and Keith slides into reflection in the mirror like some sort of fucking horror movie, “You are. Outside. _Every day.”_

But Lance doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t do anything but rinse his hands, water dripping to the floor as he reaches for a paper towel, posture cool. “Okay so… That would mean _you’re _staring at me every day too. So who’s _really _the stalker here, you feel me?” He makes a two-pointer into the trash, finally turning to face Keith again and-

And his answer is right up in his face in a heartbeat, shoulders squared and air thinning and Lance has to admit he’s proud of how he’s schooled his face regardless of the sudden startle it’s surged because he definitely should’ve seen this coming.

But Keith’s not gonna hit him.

Not right this second.

Not in the bathroom.

At least...he doesn’t think he will.

So.

“Easy tiger,” Lance stays cool, hand raising before he can stop himself to land a couple pats to Keith’s cheek, “you don’t gotta try and impress me.”

And it’s in that moment he knows he fucked up. That exact moment, his back turning to him as he makes his way to the door, eyes closing in a silent knowing _‘fuck’ _that already has him bracing for the impact because Keith is on him in a fucking _second _\- sending him forward and pushing him face-first into the cold metal of the door.

A groan is at the base of Lance’s throat but he doesn’t let it win - doesn’t let on and knows he totally brought this shit upon himself and the tingle of interest sparking from Keith’s lips at his ear as he says it is out of this world.

“Your mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.”

Because it’s very close, Lance’s entire body pressed firmly between the cold door and Keith’s warmth and _holy shit… _he just can’t fucking help the smirk that dances across his own lips as he says it. “To be fair, my mouth’s also gotten me _out _of trouble on occasion... ...if you know what I mean.”

The beat of silence that follows is _heavy. _Heavy heavy heavy. So fucking heavy that Lance is struggling to cope with his curiosity - can’t _not _take his life into his own hands and turn his head a bit. Just to see the process. Just to see the interesting way Keith’s eyes are lowly scanning the open air in front of them. In...thought?

In...

...consideration?

Lance’s worst side of himself is raring to act up again but it’s snuffed out by the sudden eye contact - right back to how it’s supposed to be, Keith’s eyes now heavy-lidded with annoyance, rolling dismissively as he pulls away with a low murmur, his heat disappearing.

It’s a little bit of a Moment and Lance knows it. Can recognize it. Will probably think about it way more than he really needs to in the future but for right now, he needs to get out.

Needs to grab his bag and throw it over his shoulder.

Needs to not look back as he hears the spark of a lighter behind him.

* * *

So… Here’s the thing.

Keith’s a dick. That’s obvious. He’s a huge dick, but that doesn’t make him a badass like he thinks he is.

Yeah, he can fight. He has a good arm. He’d definitely beat the shit out of Lance without trying, but that’s not really saying anything because his French instructor could _also _beat the shit out of him without trying. It’s just-...

Fuck, Lance wants to put him in his _place._

Wants to wipe that poser scowl off his face and take him down a few pegs.

Wants to-...

Wants to just-..._fuck him stupid._

But the opportunity is slim. Because Keith fucking hates him too.

Which is why it confuses Lance so much when it happens - when The Day of Reckoning is upon him and the midfielder and goalie come to make him answer for his “no balls” joke and he’s absolutely 100% sure that this is the day his nose gets broken and fucks up his Whole Look except - except the punch to the face never comes.

Or, it comes, but not for Lance.

And as he’s sitting there in the grass, flat on his ass and wind knocked out of his lungs from the blow to the stomach, it’s like some weird sorta mega-slow-motion Fight Club scene, the grey sky opening up above them as his defender’s arm swings like honey through its punch - one-on-two.

He…

...maybe...he doesn’t _hate _Keith…

* * *

He hates Keith.

He hates Keith so fucking much.

If he hadn’t come to Lance’s side everything would be different. Lance would’ve gotten fucked up a little, wouldn’t have gotten in trouble, the soccer idiots still wouldn’t have gotten in trouble because they’re Untouchable Soccer Idiots, and everything would’ve just passed over.

But no.

Keith had to play the badass.

_Had _to get involved in a fight that had nothing to do with him because he was so fucking starved for it.

And _now _look at them.

“This blows.” The mulch bag he’s dragging across the ground will definitely tear soon. And then what. _Fuck. _“I had plans.”

The bruise purpling around Keith’s eye is so visible in the golden hour that Lance almost feels bad. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s been lounging against the brick wall they’re supposed to be stacking these bags against for half an hour now. That more than takes the guilt away.

“Ugh,” Lance groans, dropping the corner of the mulch bag to straighten his back and wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Crazy thought here but, why don’t you _fucking help me. _It’s your punishment too, ya know.”

He doesn’t get a response. Of fucking course not.

Fine then. He’ll just move _all these heavy bags by himself._

Ugh, manual labor. Easily a much worse fate than the detention hall. This shit’s bordering on corporal punishment, is it not? And he’s gotta do it all with Mr. Badass watching him. 0/10, please.

“So what’s your deal,” he grumbles, throwing Keith a pointed look as he drags the load across the ground in front of him. “Like...what’s your deep dark origin story that explains why you’ve got such a huge stick up your ass...”

The lift to stack it up on top of what he’s already done is not exactly something he loves to be doing with this morning’s fresh blow to the stomach. Especially not with Keith so clearly judging him not five feet away.

That’s fine, he’ll continue. “Or…” he supposes, slightly out of breath as he dusts his hands off, keeping the eye contact as he passes, “Do you have a stick up your ass because no one _else _will stick anything up your ass…”

It’s a good theory. A valid theory. A theory that will either get him another punch to the stomach or absolutely no response at all.

He’s hoping for the latter.

And it’s the latter he gets.

Nothing but silence as he reaches the next bag, hands on his hips as he lets out a sigh while sizing it up.

Fuck.

Alright, one more time. “Dude seriously… Can you help so we can be done...?”

It’s a last try - a hail mary - an honest to god shock when the answer it gets is familiar silence, but with the added relief of Keith’s sneaker kicking lightly off the brick to come join him without a word.

It’s...so so so much easier with two people. So much lighter. A hold on both ends.

It frees Lance’s attention, dropping to something that’s been nagging at him for hours now. “Why’d you butt in this morning?”

“Why’re you such shit at throwing a punch?”

“Says the guy with the black eye.” It’s staring at him from across this bag of mulch, their steps matched as they carry it over to the wall. And Lance isn’t gonna let this one go. “For real though… Why’d you help me…?”

They swing it forward, watching as it joins the stack, Keith’s gaze remaining there when he says it. “Maybe I was curious.”

Even if Lance can’t help but look right at him. Because wait... He was...curious...? “About what?”

“How you handle.”

How he...

...what?

“What does that_ mean?”_

Keith’s eyes fall back onto him, but there’s something different there… Something changed… “It means you handled like I thought you’d handle.”

And then he’s walking back to the pile to be moved.

And…

Lance’s hands fly out in front of himself in confusion. “What the hell does _that _mean?” He knows it’s bad. He knows it’s fucking bad, it’s just - he wants to know exactly _how _bad. And in what way. And- “Hey! Are you saying I can’t handle myself?”

Keith’s already crouching to lift his side of the bag. “Yourself… Other people…”

“I can handle other people.”

“You got knocked on your ass.”

“I could handle _you-”_

“If we fought, you’d-”

“I’m not _talking _about fighting, you fucking idiot!”

Shit, that was a little too much. That definitely got away from him.

Lance swallows but keeps his glare - doesn’t back down because his confidence around this subject has only intensified with today’s issue. And it means he has a front seat to the little spark of connection and realization happening across from him and okay...he may have just ran at the mouth, but...that’s definitely a smirk on Keith’s face.

He’s-...

He’s smirking.

“That’s funny.”

“It’s _not _funny.”

“It is, you-... You actually think you could. It’s hilarious.” Fuck, that amused little grin makes Lance wanna do some terrible things.

“Shut up - you have no idea-”

“Yeah,” he’s fucking laughing - dropping his end of the bag and reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes and walking back toward the wall and _oh, in that moment Lance sees red._

It happens in real-time. No slow motion. No movie scenes. Just Lance’s hands on Keith’s back and he’s shoving until they’re right up against the bricks - pressed tight - a perfect reflection of their brush in the bathroom only this time it’s Keith’s arrogant ass trapped between Lance and a hard place and _oh, _that look of pleasant surprise that flashes in his eyes is unexpected and hot and _holy shit-_

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Keith’s still mouthy - still smirking but this time it’s amused in a different way. Challenging.

And Lance is more than up for the challenge, one of his hands dropping to immediately slide around over the crotch of Keith’s pants. _“Look _like I’m kidding?”

If Keith feels anything, he keeps it hidden - stays stubborn - licks his lips and smiles, the side of his face still pressed to the brick, “Dunno… You always look like a joke to me…”

And this whole smiling side of him may be new for Lance, but he needs him to shut up - can’t fucking stand to hear his back talk - leans in even closer to bite at Keith’s neck, feeling his dick twitch in his pants as he lets out a sharp _‘ahh’ _in retaliation.

It’s music to Lance’s ears. A first step. A good jumping off point that pushes him to bite down harder - just hard enough - hard enough to feel Keith’s dick rising to the occasion under his hand.

“Finally you use that big mouth for something decent,” Keith continues, but it’s far breathier now - even through the tease.

And Lance can’t pass up the opportunity, mouth hovering at his neck, “Did I not say it gets me in good?”

If Keith has a comeback, Lance plucks it right away from him, his hand wasting no time in finding a quick, heavy rhythm as he rubs him through his uniform pants. But Keith doesn’t make a sound. It’s just his hands that come up, bracing himself against the brick and pushing backward just enough to be acting up and Lance cuts that shit out - uses his free hand to grab one of his wrists and twist it back to trap it between them.

Keith’s shoulder slams back into the brick but he doesn’t complain, propped off even now - other hand still braced against the wall. It’s an entertaining sight. The silent struggle. The clear battle between craving to come out on top like always but not lose the quick, heavy friction he’s getting from Lance’s hand. It’s far more entertaining than expected.

“You know…” Lance supposes, grin tugging and arm still working while he speaks lowly in his ear, “If we had what I needed, I’d swap that stick in your ass for something much better too.”

Because Keith’s hard where Lance has spread his legs apart with his thigh. And he’s not the only one. And-

“Get my bag.”

It’s an immediate and full body wave of warmth and excitement that it gives him. Even if-

“Seriously?” Lance has already scooped it up - kept Keith pressed to the wall and straightened again and there’s-... That’s definitely what he needs. Just right here in the front pouch of Keith’s bag. “Like...for real?”

“You’re not the only one who was supposed to have plans.”

That in itself is enough to have Lance stalling for a moment - the concept of this guy...just...

What, Keith’s out there getting fucked on the regular?

“Well there goes _my _theory-”

“Just fucking do it.”

Right. Right - there’s no time to think about it now. Right now he’s just gotta focus on pressing the small bottle of lube into the hand he’s kept trapped between them, backing off for a moment but only so he can tear off a silver packet and get himself good to go too.

And okay, maybe one question.

“I gotta know who’s fucking you.”

“You don’t gotta know shit.”

Alright. Alright fine. Even if Keith’s sass loses a lot of fire when he’s got his hand shoved into the back of his pants like this.

“Just hurry up.”

“I’m already d-”

Lance cuts it off quick, the bottle dropping to the ground with how sharply he tugs Keith around - gets him spun - gets him nice and close and revels in the little groan he lets out as he’s bent over chest-down onto their stack of mulch bags.

It’s a groan but it’s not a complaint. Not with that pleased, heated grin that dances across his face from being handled.

He likes it.

He likes it _rough._

Oh yeah. That’s definitely not gonna be a problem for Lance.

Stepping up to fuck Keith from behind was never something he thought he’d actually get to do, and now that he’s here - now that he’s tugging the ass of his pants down just enough - his own too - it’s like an instant adrenaline rush pumping straight through his veins, Keith already making a fuss below him all the way until Lance lines himself up and-

And the first time is decently slow, because he may be aggressive but he’s not a monster - and that warmth..._ fuck, _it washes all over him again as he sinks his cock into him as deeply as he can go...like honey...like warm ocean waves...like-

...wait a second.

Hang on.

That’s right, he needs to put this stupid “badboy” in his place.

“You gonna do something, or ju-_ uuuuhh-”_

Lance slams his hips forward, punching out that tasty moan that’s got Keith’s fist flying up to control.

It’s a sound he’s never heard from him. A sound he’d much rather hear than his usual tough-guy shit. A sound he chases after with tighter pitches forward - quick but controlled, his own pleasure rushing too.

And Keith’s unfortunately doing a way better job controlling his voice now - just that grin of pleasant surprise, eyes closed - like he didn’t think Lance could do it. Because he _didn’t _think Lance can do it.

And yet here Lance is.

Doing it.

Motherfucker.

“Huh… Don’t seem to think it’s funny _now.” _Oh yeah, he’s gonna milk this. “What happened?”

“Ah-...” the struggle doesn’t seem to embarrass Keith in the slightest. “...anyone can fire off for two minutes, idiot…” the bags of mulch shift inch by inch beneath him, “It’s about stamina…”

Now it’s Lance’s turn to chuckle, one of his hands lifting from the grip on Keith’s waist to slide up his spine and press down firmly on the back of his neck until his cheek is against the mulch. “Oh, I don’t think it’s gonna be me who’s ending it first.”

The chuckle he gets is unexpected and low and breathy and hot and _fuck _does it send heat pooling to dangerous places.

And he may already be sweating, but he’s not about to stop - not about to let up his pace - hitting hard and hitting deep and keeping Keith pressed down tightly by the back of the neck.

He could absolutely cum now if he wanted to but he’s got a point to make. Has _had _a point to make for like three years now. And he’s not gonna stop until he feels Keith squeezing around him - until those fingers have gripped into the bags below him so hard that he’s torn a hole and the mulch starts pouring out onto the ground.

He doesn’t stop.

He snaps his hips and he grits his teeth until Keith’s biting the collar of his uniform to shut himself up but really it’s Lance who’s doing it. It’s Lance who’s shutting him up. Who’s working him over and putting him in his place and _god _he doesn’t know if that or fucking him feels better but it’s all coming to a point. And he’s so fucking high on adrenaline. And things are getting white-hot and Keith’s squeezing around him _tight _\- forehead pressed against the mulch to hide his face as he cums but he can’t hide the growl from the back of his throat or the arch of his back.

But Lance doesn’t want him to hide it. He wants to know exactly how much he’s ruined him and he gets off to that shit - fingers grabbing maybe a little too hard and hands shaking maybe a little too much as he cums but _the fucking adrenaline is unreal. _And Keith just stays there and takes it - chest heaving - face hidden.

Even as Lance pulls out.

Takes a few steps back to admire his work.

Watches as Keith lets his top half slide off the mulch so he can drop into a crouch, hands bracing himself against it, back still to him.

He’s catching his breath - or trying to, at least - and once Lance is done basking in his own glory, he’ll do the same.

But for now, he’ll enjoy the moment, watching Keith’s hand drop to blindly roam along the ground beside him, in search of…

Lance lets out a huff of a chuckle, scooping up the carton of cigarettes he had knocked from that hand at the very start of this, his grin only growing wider when he brings it over to Keith, the way it’s snatched from his hand forever changed.

“Easy there, tiger.”

Because he can see the mulch ground under Keith’s fingernails from where he was gripping into the bag.

Yeah, Lance is thinking a lot of shit between them is gonna be different now.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

“Hhh..._ fuck-...”_

The bathroom stall door rattles on its hinges as Keith hangs on for dear life.

It’s not exactly their quietest hookup to date, but it’s definitely their quickest and it doesn’t even matter because they’ve got the freestanding building of restrooms all to themselves.

Lance’s horniness levels have been off the charts lately, his belt buckle clanking with every snap of his hips into where Keith’s sandwiched between him and the pale green door. He’s completely aware of the fact that it’s all because of him. It’s no mystery that he now lives for that eye-contact across the courtyard - lives for the game of deciphering the intent behind it - the thrill of watching him pat out his cigarette and turn to wherever he’s trying to get Lance to follow.

It’s not all the time. It’s not an everyday thing. But when it happens - when the angsty staring is more than just angsty staring...woo boy…

_“Hnn…”_

The growl at the back of Keith’s throat is strangled. Heated. Lights Lance up in the best fucking way, the grin dancing across his sweaty face unable to be tamed.

“You like that, short stuff?”

He knows it’s gonna get him some sort of retaliation but it’s worth it. Especially with how clearly Keith _is _enjoying it - even if he doesn’t say it out loud. Because he’s gripping so tightly - white knuckling the top edge of the stall door. And Lance can feel the tingles of pleasure starting to swirl nice and deep in his own belly - has to sacrifice a hand to pull his tie loose from around his neck - swallows a moan he doesn’t care to see the light of day and fucks into Keith until it all starts rushing over him.

He cums first… Buries himself as deeply as he can in Keith’s tight warmth and lets his eyes roll to the back of his head at the feeling of him clenching around him - getting off too - always a breathy growl that’s right on brand for him - still pretty hot given the fact that it’s Lance who just punched the orgasm out of him.

But holy shit, does that take a lot of energy.

Lance lets out a long breath, still trying to catch it as he slumps forward against Keith, body both lit up and drained at the same time.

He’d offer a smartass comment, but right now a lot of his energy is focused on taking in air. That, and how the body in front of him is starting to ever so slightly slip down the door, Lance’s own pretty much keeping him upright. But-

“Get off.” Keith’s shrugging him off, his shoulder actually packing a decent amount of strength - enough to get Lance stumbling back.

But it’s fine. It’s whatever.

Keith’s zipper pulls and belt clinks and the door snaps open without another word from him, Lance left to catch his breath in the stall by himself.

But it’s fine.

It’s whatever.

* * *

On Thursday he has cheer practice.

He has cheer practice and it’s all very cheery and practice-y and they’re actually finally nailing the lift that Pidge convinced their coach they should do and it’s all so very wonderful that Lance isn’t even freaked out by the extra pair of eyes on him...watching...lurking in the shadow cast by the side of the bleachers.

He’s not freaked out but he’s definitely aware of them.

Definitely familiar with being on the receiving end of them.

Just not here.

But he goes over another lift with Pidge, their foot propelling off his cupped hands at the right time to shoot them skyward. Or...at least...kinda skyward enough to get them up on his and Kinkade’s shoulders. And it’s a damn good thing Pidge decided to join because they’d never be able to do this with someone not Pidge-sized.

Anyway, that’s all Lance has to use his attention for. The move. Keeping Pidge up. Not what’s happening further away - not who’s lounging against the bleacher’s frame, earbuds in and hands in his pockets but eyes watching.

Watching Lance watch him, white uniform shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up because that’s the least of administration’s worries about him.

Lance wants to roll his eyes at the cliché of it all but there’s that little nagging thing inside that won’t let him look away.

“Hey.” Kinkade’s voice does it though, everything coming back to present when he says it. “Maybe try focusing.”

Lance has to make a joke. “Sounds scary and new but I’ll give it a try.”

Has to cover it up.

Has to give one more glance over to the bleachers before crouching into the next position.

* * *

A week goes by.

And a little more.

The soccer team still hates his fucking guts but they’re not actively trying to break his legs anymore.

He hooks up with Keith behind the greenhouse on Tuesday and then the regularly scheduled Avatar Aangst staring recommences.

But it’s fine. It’s whatever. Sometimes you just gotta brood and stare across the courtyard without the intent of getting fucked within an inch of your life, he guesses. And anyway, it gives Lance’s dick a rest too - a concept he never thought he’d accept into his life.

But that was before all this.

And yeah, maybe he’s still watching closely. Maybe he might be a little addicted to pushing Keith back down a few tiers and putting him in his place. Maybe he’s still a little curious about who Keith was all geared to hook up with that late afternoon they were stuck stacking mulch. Like...it’s not his business but, do they do it the same way? Get Keith’s knees to give out like him? Lance wants to know. _Has _to know.

So when he sees Keith headed off campus Wednesday night - in dark street clothes and his bag flung over his shoulder - he has no other option but to follow.

There’s no gameplan.

No “if this - then this”.

He just follows, far enough behind that he doesn’t bring attention to himself, all the way until they reach the stairs that lead under an unfamiliar bridge.

It’s a classic hookup spot, he guesses. Or a place to get murdered, with how secluded it is. Either way, Keith belongs here, it’s just…

Lance waits…and waits…and waits, hidden behind the base of the bridge’s stairs. The moon is almost full - almost paints Keith like watercolor where he stands in the sloping grass, eyes fallen to the slow-moving river a few yards in front of him.

If he’s meeting someone, they’re not here. Or they’re not coming. Or…

Or there never was someone to meet in the first place…

The moonlight glints off the small glass bottle Keith pulls from his backpack, his cigarette held casually between his lips as he tosses his bag onto the grass.

And…

He’s…

Lance lets out a short breath.

Seriously? Keith’s just here to get shitfaced by himself? He followed him all the way here for _that? _Talk about a waste of time. Un_less…_

The moonlight feels eerie on Lance’s skin as he emerges from his hiding spot - like he shouldn’t be here - but it’s far too late for that now, and he’s thinking he can definitely weasel some whiskey out of this situation if he just-

_snap!_

Keith’s sudden attention on him is startling, but not nearly as startling as the pocket knife produced out of nowhere clicking open and held at his side like it’s second nature and-

“Whoa whoa,” Lance contains it, hands flying out in front of himself, “Easy, tiger. Just me.”

Stupid twig.

The way Keith’s face immediately falls from keen _“I’ll fucking carve your heart from your chest” _to just plain confusion is almost funny. If it wasn’t for the fact that it clearly means he doesn’t see Lance as a threat. Just an annoyance.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Lance crosses his arms. “The fuck are _you _doing?” Waits for the knife to be lowered and loses. “I mean c’mon, man. This whole setup? How angsty can you _get?”_

Because now Keith’s just frowning. “How’d you even get here?”

“Followed you.”

_“Why.”_

“Tryna even out the whole ‘who’s stalking who’ ratio.”

Keith allows himself one more moment of thought - clear, honest to god brain work - before shaking his head, pocket knife clicking shut without looking as he turns back to the river. “...fuck’s sake…”

It’s under his breath but Lance can hear it.

And he can also appreciate the bottle of whiskey Keith’s bending down to retrieve from the grass. “Since I’m here…”

Keith really has every right to stab him and the fact that he isn’t does not go unnoticed. Lance would just like to note that. And also note that the way he sits with a little huff of annoyance could be considered cute if Lance was trying to consider stuff cute right now.

But he’s not.

He’s got something else he’s working for.

Several long minutes go by before Keith finally hands the bottle over, Lance wondering if maybe he should just leave.

But then the whiskey kicks in. Hugs his brain. Greets him like a long lost friend that the school’s been beating away from him with a stick. Keith must drink off campus for the sake of his brother or something - just to give him one less thing he has to invoke his Counselor Duties for.

But now they’re off campus.

They’re free.

They can sit here in the moonlight and do whatever the hell they want.

Lance takes another sip, the liquid glistening so prettily that he takes an extra second before tipping the bottle back down. It’s not exactly the best taste on his tongue but his head likes it. And his tingling fingers like it. And the warm, pleasant swirling in his stomach is nice.

He definitely gets why someone would come here.

The river moves slowly in front of them, barely making noise - a peaceful backdrop to the crackle of burning paper as Keith takes a drag… His slow breath out…

It’s calming… Has Lance turning his head, eyes roaming over where Keith watches the water flow...lids heavy...circles dark under his eyes…lit in a warm glow with every hit of his cigarette…

He’s generally, at the heart of it all, a pretty attractive guy.

That’s always been true.

It’s just his attitude.

But everything else…

Lance’s eyes trail over the cigarette caught between his lips, hands busy slowly picking the dirt from under his nails. And for a moment, his body moves on its own, fingers reaching out to pluck the cigarette from his mouth.

It gets him a breath of curiosity, “You smoke…?”

All for Lance to cut quickly without a smile, “Nope,” snuffing the cherry out on the ground next to him.

But Keith’s on the move - protesting - brows etched together in aggravation as he reaches over Lance’s lap to try to save it but it’s too late - it’s done - and Lance is trapping his hand anyway, pressing it to the grass so they’re stuck together - energy buzzing - just enough space to lean in and-

Keith’s free hand holds him off in an instant. Solid on Lance’s collarbone. Just short of where his pulse is taking off in his chest because he-... They don’t ever kiss, but…

Keith swallows thickly, lips parted, eyes glossy where they’re dancing between Lance’s.

Something’s happening.

Something in Keith’s brain.

Something in Lance’s chest.

Something in both of them and he really doesn’t want to address it right now because all he wants to do is-

...is feel Keith’s defense lighten…feel his hand back off the push…watch his gaze drop to Lance’s mouth...tongue hesitantly wetting his lips...

Something is happening.

In Keith’s brain.

In Lance’s chest.

Something in both of them and Lance is using the given space to push forward, slotting his mouth against Keith’s maybe too harshly because Keith’s letting it happen but then that pressure is back on his collarbone - holding him off again - heavy breath as he _stares _at his mouth because _something is happening. _In his brain. In Lance’s chest.

And he expects to be shoved to the ground but what he gets is Keith - his mouth - pressing but not pressing like he really knows he wants to be pressing so Lance helps him. Kisses him back. Lets go of the wrist he has pinned to the ground and puts the weight back onto Keith, tongue gliding over his.

And there’s this incredible energy. This-...this _buzzing _in Lance’s chest as Keith kisses him back because _something is happening! _Something is happening and he doesn’t know what because all they’re doing is making out but somehow that’s big and different and worthy of the buzz and Lance brings his hands up - slips them over Keith’s shoulders and up his neck and holds him and-

His back hits the ground before he can even process what’s happening - before his brain even registers the hands shoving him away.

He lands with a groan and a little bit of a wince but in his peripherals he can see Keith pushing to his feet, stuffing the whiskey in his bag and it’s dark but Lance doesn’t miss how he drags his tongue of his bottom lip like he’s-...maybe-...

...ugh...

Lance lets out a breath, head falling back into the grass so he can close his eyes.

He should’ve expected it.

He’s gotta figure out exactly what was the line-crosser.

But he doesn’t have that long to process, the grass crunching under Keith’s boots as he stalks away without a word forcing him to move.

Or, at least, whine.

“Waaait, I dunno how to get back.”

He expects the curt tone. He expects the attitude. What he doesn’t expect...is the barely-there huff of a chuckle, almost too quiet to hear before he says it.

“Don’t fucking follow me in the first place then.”

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Lance is leprosy.

Lance is the plague and Keith is avoiding him like it.

Even the angsty staring across the courtyard has been drastically cut - whittled away to a mere split-second hold that breaks off as soon as Lance meets it.

And he’s not _insulted, _per se… It’s just…

He knows why. Knows exactly why it’s happening and that’s somehow more aggravating than _not _knowing. Because if he didn’t know, he could chalk it up to Keith’s normal piece-of-shit attitude. If he didn’t know, the whole thing could be shrugged off and ignored and _whatever._

But he does.

He does know.

And what’s worse is he can’t deny that he’s in the exact same boat.

Because fuck feelings, right?

* * *

It’s fine.

It’s good.

The only real issue here is that Lance suddenly isn’t getting it in on the regular and oh, his body does _not _like that.

But it’s fine.

It’s good.

It’s whatever, really.

Fuck feelings, right?

Right.

* * *

Two weeks pass.

Two and a half.

Three weeks tick by and Lance would feel _real stupid _about just how poorly his dick is taking to this sudden drought if he couldn’t see the mirrored sentiment staring right back at him from the alcove in the courtyard.

Because Keith’s crabby.

_Crabby _crabby.

And that’s not really any of Lance’s concern, especially given the fact that he’s personally laid eyes on him sneaking off campus with his backpack multiple times these past weeks.

Because he’s getting dicked down. Keith. Someone’s out there fucking him like damn-near clockwork and yet-...

And yet here he is.

Staring… Eyes hooded… No longer breaking away when Lance meets his gaze.

It’s both none of Lance’s concern and all his brain wants to focus on.

* * *

Thursday.

Cheer practice.

Kinkade almost drops Pidge.

Recover.

Shower.

Routine routine routine and Lance just makes it behind the small building of bathroom stalls when it happens - when the presence emerges out of nowhere and zeroes in and the brick is rough against his spine as he’s slammed back into it and-

_“Fuck-” _it gasps out of him a little, brows furrowing more in annoyance than anything despite the little spark of excitement that runs through him but- _“Use your words.”_

Because Keith is right up on him. Right here, about to make him answer for that night by the river because it got a little out of control and _fuck _feelings, right - but: “Fuck me.”

Lance blinks, furrowed brows raising because they’re way too close to hear wrong and- “Oh.” way too close to not accidentally glance down at his frown and- “Alright.” way too close to not at least _think about it _but-

But he’s getting pulled into the bathroom before he has to deal with that. Before he has to scramble up a thought to share with the class.

The door slams behind him and he’s not 100% it gets locked but Keith is about ten steps past that already - condom shoved to Lance’s chest to deal with and belt clinking as he undoes his pants and _holy shit yes. Okay _hell _yes Lance is so fucking ready for this. _So ready he doesn’t even have to touch himself - just tears the wrapper and rolls on the condom and is barely done spitting on it when Keith’s right there - _ready _\- pressed against the sink without a moment to spare and when Lance sinks in - when he bottoms out like his life depends on it - the fucking look that washes over Keith’s face in the mirror - eyes shut tight, jaw tensed but mouth dropped open like Lance’s cock has punched the breath out of him and he’s finally gotten what he needs… Holy shit, it’s a sight to fucking see.

And Lance feeds off it. Fucking pitches his hips forward, hands gripping Keith’s waist and pulling him back into it tight. It’s what he’s been missing in his life these past three weeks. The rush of adrenaline. The waves of full-body pleasure. The sound of Keith biting through his moans - angry with it - heated. It’s what he’s been missing. And apparently he’s not the only one.

“Other guys not doin’ it for ya?” Lance can’t help the smirk. Can’t help the insane surge of cockiness that sweeps through him as he fucks into Keith just short of too hard. “Not the same?”

He’s breathy but not as breathy as the boy under him, one hand gripping the edge of the sink, the other steadying himself around the neck of the faucet, “S-... So full of yourself…” body lurching forward as he finally drops his head to the counter. “...full’a shit…”

And it may be true. This situation might make Lance’s ego inflate in the worst way but _come on. _It has to be why this is happening - why Keith finally gave up his stubborn fight - even just for one day. It’s gotta be.

And Lance is totally on board with that, all his pent up _everything _flowing from him like his life depends on it, one hand moving from Keith’s waist to slide firmly up his spine and keep his head pressed to the counter by the back of his neck - the perfect leverage to lean forward and fuck him deeper.

It has Keith’s eyes rolling in the back of his head. Has him losing it for a moment. No walls. No faces. Just indulgence. The true satisfaction of getting what he wants.

Lance can feel it work its way down his own body - inevitable - sooner than he’d hoped but it’s been bottled up for weeks now and really, what can you expect?

_“Fuck…” _Sharp breath - sweat gathering at his hairline - pleasure pooling and heating and tipping over for good at the feeling of Keith tightening around him and _fuck - fuck fuck fuck-_

It’s black-out worthy.

Has his entire core shaking.

Pulls out the most A-1 First Page Pornhub moan that’s ever left his body and it’d be impressive if he wasn’t absolutely sure the lord himself just heard it up on high.

It’d be the perfect opportunity for Keith to give him shit. To call him out on it and make it a recurring taunt but-

But Keith’s having his own troubles. Just fucking...sinks into a crouch, head buried in his crossed arms against the edge of the sink much like their first time against the mulch bags.

He’s catching his breath.

Regaining focus.

Not even paying attention to Lance, who’s backed up far enough to slump against the side of a stall and avoid making eye contact with himself in the mirror.

Because his body’s happy. His _body’s happy. _But…

Lance swallows thickly, chest still heaving as he chucks the condom into the trash and zips his pants back up.

He doesn’t _want _to pursue it right this instant, but he’s not sure if Keith’s going to slip back into avoiding him after this. And like-... Okay... He’ll just use the opportunity now that his dick is happy at least.

“So, _question-”_

“No.”

Lance frowns. Watches Keith gather himself, back to him as he zips his pants as well. He knows it’s not the best environment to discuss that Thing that happened at the river but, “We’re _really _not gonna talk about it-”

“No.”

The faucet squeaks off, Keith’s face still dripping from the cool water he’s doused himself in as he turns - nothing else - no eye contact - just runs a hand down from his forehead and pushes out of the bathroom, leaving Lance to stand there, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Cool.”

They definitely didn’t lock the door.

* * *

Whatever.

It’s whatever.

It’s _fine._

Fuck feelings, right?

* * *

He’s not ignored. Lance. Keith doesn’t ignore him after. Or, well-...

The regularly scheduled stare-downs recommence. But they don’t hook up. Maybe because it’s Friday and then the next couple days are off and it’s pretty normal for them to have their own lives during that stretch of time.

Lance isn’t going to overthink it because it won’t solve anything. It’ll just work him up for no reason. And anyway he’s definitely getting over it. “It”. The “Thing”. It was just kissing and Lance is grown and shit like that doesn’t have to mean anything if he doesn’t want it to.

And he doesn’t want it to.

So it doesn’t.

He’s over it.

100%.

* * *

Except. Keith kissed him back, so.

* * *

Saturday night.

Later than he’s usually out.

The walk back from his friend’s off-campus apartment is long but quiet. And peaceful. Open-air space to think or not think or both, the moon peeking out from behind somehow the only cloud in the sky.

The dorm building is in sight - home sweet home - bed sweet bed - one last corner to turn when he sees him, coming from the opposite direction, hands stuffed in his pockets and hood up but not shadowed enough to hide it.

Lance’s pace falters, frown at the ready because: “Fuck _happened _to you?” But his question goes unanswered, Keith not even looking at him as he continues on his way and turns to head toward the dorm building despite Lance’s more pointed, “Hello?”

It’s just the crunch of the path under his boots, not hurried but also not letting up until Lance is huffing, Keith’s wrist in his clutches and _forcing _him to.

He’s not happy about it.

_“What.”_

Lance doesn’t particularly care. “‘What’? You look like shit.”

It’s not the thing to say. Gets Keith to twist out of his hold like that and continue on his way.

He’s not happy.

But now neither is Lance.

“Fucking-... Hang _on.” _Another grab - path crunching - fabric rustling - Keith’s jaw clenched as he’s whipped back around for a second time. “Can you stop being dramatic for like _two fucking seconds…”_

He can’t. He can’t and they both know that and Lance doesn’t actually expect him to get his head out of his own ass but the least he can do is not act like he’s being cuffed and printed. Especially not by Lance. Especially when all he wants to do is-

“Let’s go.”

Keith’s strong but so is Lance. “No.”

“Yes.”

“It’s fine-”

“Let’s _go-”_

“Where are you even-”

“I wanna fucking help you, okay!”

He shouts it.

Doesn’t mean to.

...kinda means to.

...does...mean to...

He means to shout it but he doesn’t like the way it sounds anymore. Doesn’t like the way it tangles up his guts. Doesn’t like how weird his chest feels when Keith’s anger dissolves into something _less _angry and more-... More something. _...something. _...something’s happening-

“Let’s go.”

Keith lets himself be led this time. Doesn’t make a fuss. Follows but doesn’t say a word even as Lance is letting go to unlock his room and they’re silently sealing themselves away in the tiny bathroom.

Hunk’s asleep and he wants to keep it that way.

Wants to turn the light on but is afraid of too many things.

Pulls out the antiseptic and the bandages that his mother insisted on him bringing and then turns to where Keith is silently waiting...gaze elsewhere...even as Lance reaches up to gently pull his hood off, his hair mussed softly from it.

The bathroom night-light is dim, but he doesn’t need much to assess the damage.

The purpling start of a black eye…

A small cut at the bridge of his nose…

One high on his cheek…

Lance swallows thickly - way too loud in his ears - breath just a little too uneven.

“Seriously?”

He doesn’t expect an answer and doesn’t get one. Just starts with the antiseptic, squeezing a bit on the pad of his pointer finger to gently rub over the broken skin below his eye.

Quietly - so quietly, as he moves on: “Nose isn’t broken, is it...?”

Keith hasn’t looked at him once. “Mm-mm.”

“Good.”

The air between them is thick and getting thicker. Makes it hard to breathe like a normal person. Hard to stay calm.

He unwraps the small adhesive strip bandages that he’s never had to use before and holds his breath as he places them over the cuts the way he _thinks _they’re supposed to go. Maybe... Hopefully... Either way...it can’t-...

Lance’s chest stutters as those eyes, finally and without warning, settle over to lock with his.

They’re tired.

And..._something..._

And he’s too close.

Lance swallows again, breaking away to toss the bandage wrappers in the trash can. But it’s only so long. And only so far - not even a full step away before he’s right back in it again, air too thick.

And-...

God.

God fucking damn it.

“It doesn’t have to be weird,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper for fear of waking. “You know...? We were-...”

“...drinking,” Keith finishes. Blessedly. On the same page.

It’s almost enough to have Lance sighing in relief. The conversation finally happening. “Yeah. We weren’t thinking.”

“It wasn’t-...”

“Yeah.” He gets it. “It wasn’t-... Uh...”

They’re still way too close and every inch of Lance’s body is fully aware of it.

“We won’t do that.” Keith mumbles. Puts them back on track.

“Right.” Right. “Yeah.”

But they’re very close.

“We don’t need to get all-...”

“Yeah-”

“You know.”

“Yeah.” Lance’s heart is going to explode out of his chest. “Just hooking up is fine.”

“Mhm.”

“I just wanna hook up.”

“Yeah - me too.”

Lance nods, pulse in his throat. “So we won’t do that.”

“Just hooking up.”

“Just hooking up.”

It’s settled. Keith nods as well, voice low. “Okay.”

But Lance can only focus on how that gaze drops down to his lips. Stalling time. Plucking at every heartbeat in his chest as he answers it...a whisper... “Okay.”

Because…

...because fuck feelings…

...right?

The box of bandages clatters to the floor as they meet halfway, mouths hungry and chasing and Lance is so fucking sure he’s about to faint but he’s got a hold around Keith’s neck. And Keith’s pulling him in tighter. And a hand is snaking up his throat but he loves it and bites back and it’s true what they say about kissing people who smoke.

But he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care - he doesn’t care - he doesn’t care because _his chest is doing that ‘something’ and he likes it._

He likes it.

And Keith likes it.

And he-...

He likes…Keith.

He likes Keith.

_He likes Keith._

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **one-time use of a gay slur in this one about half-way thru folks**

He likes Keith.

Keith likes him.

They both like each other and it’s the weirdest shit Lance’s insides have ever taken it upon themselves to do. Because he definitely didn’t okay this. Definitely didn’t sign off on whoever thought it’d be a good idea to catch feelings for the academy’s almost-drop-out.

And yet here we are.

Here _ he _is.

Here the two of them stand, cornered off in Keith’s stupid little smoking alcove, the small tube of antibiotic cream in Lance’s hand not flying in the slightest. 

“I’m not using this.” 

And Lance is not amused. “Why not.”

“Because.”

“Be_cause-” _

“I’ve literally never used shit like that.” 

“Your face will heal quicker-” 

“It doesn’t matter - Jesus - they’re just gonna open up again next time.”

Next time.

_ Next time. _

Lance’s frown deepens impossibly darker. Seriously? _ Next time, _ his ass! “Next time, my ass!” (Nailed it.)

Behind him, a group of students shuffle past. But their chatter can’t even begin to detract from the unholy scowl beginning to form on Keith’s face. 

“What the hell are you _ talking _about.”

And seriously - how could Lance be any clearer? “I’m talking about _ you _fucking off with all the fighting. Obviously.”

“What makes you think you even get a say-”

“Because I like you, you dumbass!” He’s probably way too loud, but who even cares anymore. “I’m emotionally invested in your well-being so _ cut that shit out.” _

His outburst has Keith’s scowl turn guarded - has the tension melting for a moment - enough for a pause before his critical response. “Emotionally invested in my well-being?”

Ugh. “I’m not exactly fired up about it either but-”

“You been talking to Shiro?”

Lance trips up - head literally lolls backward to recalibrate. “What?” His brother? “N-... He’s not even my counselor - what the hell are you-” Okay, you know what? It’s not worth it. At all. _ “God _you piss me off,” he huffs, leaning in to press the chastest kiss in the history of forever to Keith’s mouth and then huff one more time. “Use the fucking ointment.” 

And that’s how he makes his exit.

* * *

“So I-... I think I’m dating Avatar Aangst.”

They’re at their usual spot under the tree, lunches in the grass. And Hunk’s sandwich has frozen halfway to his mouth. “I’m sorry _ what.” _

He’s right to question him, Lance’s own eyes narrowing as he stares off in thought. “Yeah that...doesn’t sound right, does it.”

“Since when do you even _ talk _to Keith?”

“It’s been a complicated journey - I won’t lie to you.”

“Lance,” Hunk sets his lunch down, eyes closed like he’s trying to process, but only ending up with a solid: “What the fuck.”

Oof, if that ain’t the mood of the century. “Honestly wish I could tell you, buddy.”

“You like him?”

“Yeah.”

“And he likes you?”

“Y-...” Lance’s...eyes...narrow again… “Yeah…” Wait a sec. “Boy, this _ really _doesn’t sound right now that I say it out loud.”

“Are you okay?” Hunk has turned entirely toward him now, serious with his protective aura. “Like, should I be staging some sort of intervention?”

It’d be funny if Lance wasn’t actively trying to avoid the eye contact. Even funnier if that didn’t lead his gaze straight over to where the troublemaker in question is snuffing out his cigarette on the ground like a heathen. 

Jesus - _ is _Lance okay?

_ Does _he need an intervention?

“Your silence is really not working in your favor - I just need you to know.”

Lance huffs, stuffing the rest of a carrot into his mouth and tearing his gaze away right as Keith meets it across the courtyard. “Hunk - my best friend - my beautiful confidant-”

“Do you need an intervention or not.”

“No.” Damn, Hunk’s quick with being done with Lance’s shit today. Is _ he _okay?

“Just-...” he lets it pause for a moment as a group of Soccer Idiots pass by their spot, tone gone all soft and Hunk-y when it returns, “Just don’t let him drag you into any shit.”

“Aye aye, cap’n.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I!” Lance snaps into a salute to prove it, posture straight as straight can be. 

It’d usually get a fond eye roll, but today Hunk settles on mumbling to himself as he turns his attention back to his lunch in the grass. 

And alright. Fine. One more little nudge of reassurance. “Hunk it’s _ me. _What kinda shit could I possibly get into?”

“Oh my god _ please _don’t fucking say that.”

Whoops - swing and a miss.

* * *

Keith is a hard guy to track down. 

Not that Lance _ wants _ to be tracking him down. Not that he’s thrilled to be seeking his company. But regardless, he’s a bit of an enigma and that kind of shit is hard to pinpoint - probably by design.

He doesn’t actually see Keith again until a couple nights later, his classic street clothes/backpack getup familiar in that it makes Lance’s stomach twist in a way he can’t describe. 

But he goes for it anyway - jogs up to him anyway - approaches even though Keith doesn’t exactly look like he wants to be approached and plucks one of his earbuds out with a single finger and _ oh, the look he gets is not a pleasant one but- _

“Hey.”

Keith’s aggravation mellows, but only slightly - “What.” - keeps him walking.

Lance falls into step beside him. “Where you off to?”

“Why?”

“Because.” The aggravation is transferring, but he’s gotta keep a cool head, the moon peeking out from the clouds to shine down on his internal conflict. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I wanna spend time with you.” 

It...sounds weird.

They both know it but it doesn’t stop Keith from continuing forward. Doesn’t stop Lance from following after. Doesn’t stop the silence between them as they walk - but at least Keith pulls the other earbud away and stuffs his phone into his bag. 

It’s the middle of the week but the bars in town are still busy - bright neon that lights Keith’s face as he takes a drag from his cigarette - glints off the broken glass in the street as they pass. It isn’t far from campus, but it feels like another world entirely. One Lance doesn’t dip into so often, but more like home to Keith.

He looks like he belongs here, honestly - the neon and the noise and the dark corners fitting around him better than his uniform ever could. 

But this isn’t their destination. 

No. Lance remembers this path from the last time he followed him down here. And there’s not too far left until-

“Hey!” 

The voice behind them echoes off the buildings like a taunt, Lance’s head immediately turning but attention getting stuck on the not so subtle annoyance that breaks over Keith’s face.

What the fuck? “Keith, who’s-”

“Hey!” he’s louder this time - this guy - squared up and standing right in the middle of the street behind them, “Kinda early to go choke on dick, huh? Fucking faggot.”

Lance stomach turns - nasty and sour - made even grosser by the very recognizable look in Keith’s eyes because he’s made a decision - taken a long drag from his cigarette before flicking it away and turning and-

“Keith.” Oh hell no. This isn’t actually happening, right?

But his word of caution falls on deaf ears, everything moving quickly and determined and Keith’s backpack is getting slung into Lance’s chest to hold and _ oh hell no - this isn’t actually happening right? _

“Keith!” He’s not gentle with his bag - lets that shit drop to the street because his stomach is turning and he’s following after him, everything gone muted in his ears except for his own pulse and his footsteps and Hunk’s voice far off in his brain - _ “Don’t let him drag you into any shit-” _

But Lance is moving on his own - isn’t getting dragged into it so much as he’s planting himself - firmly - right in between Keith and this guy as they come together and he knows he's a dumbass for it but he can’t help it. Doesn’t like his stomach turning. Fucking hates that look in Keith’s eyes as he keeps his attention on his target, skin still torn from the last time and-

“Keith!” Is this seriously fucking happening right now? “Hey!” Both hands on Keith’s chest like maybe if he holds him back everything won’t turn to shit but- 

But Keith’s pushing him away - stern - one arm sending him backward because the next one isn’t protective. The next one is dead-set - zeroing in on the smug look this guy’s got but not for long and Lance has seen Keith get in fights before but not like this. Not here. Not where there aren’t guidance counselors to break it up before too many punches get thrown and too much blood gets spilt and _ jesus christ, this is actually fucking happening. _

“Stop-” Lance’s chest is on fire - limbs are on fire - brain is on fire as the two of them move in front of him- “Stop, you fucking idiots!”

What the fuck does he do?

_ Fuck- what the fuck does he do- _

The sudden, single blip of a police siren rings out in the night - perfectly clear in Lance’s muted ears but dead on arrival to the others and suddenly his stomach’s flipping for a whole new reason.

Because Keith can’t get caught again - can’t get in trouble with real authority - can’t possibly keep hanging on by that teeny tiny thread even with his brother trying to get him out of it so-

“C’mon-”

The other guy’s already backing up, skin torn where Keith’s fist met him. And it must finally be dawning on Keith too because he’s angry but he’s allowing himself to be dragged away - allowing Lance’s very obvious pull - swooping down to grab his backpack on the way as they hurry off into the night and away from the swirling red and blue lights. 

_ _ _

The river is moving slowly.

Crickets are chirping quietly.

Clouds are parting, the moonlight once again shining down onto them as Lance takes the bottle of whiskey from Keith’s hand.

They’re back here. Back at the ravine, a similar setup that had kicked everything into motion a couple months ago.

But they’re silent tonight. Heavy. Pensive as they pass the bottle back and forth, Keith leaning away to spit blood into the grass every now and then.

Lance has so much shit he wants to say. 

_ What the fuck is your problem? _

_ Didn’t we just talk about fighting? _

_ Was all that seriously worth it? _

But…

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t get it. The shit that guy said. It hit just a little too close to home for Lance’s liking.

So…

“No one at school knows I’m bi…” his voice is rough from screaming, but it still carries. “Besides you and Hunk, I mean.” 

Keith remains still beside him… Quiet… Head finally dropping as he flexes his hand, most likely sore from the fight. 

But Lance has had just enough whiskey to push. “Anyone know about you?”

Open palm to fist… Bruised knuckles cracking… Gaze downward. “Who cares.”

Lance’s attention turns away, settling off into the river. Textbook answer. 

At least his brain isn’t on fire anymore. At least it’s nice and soothed over now… Floating…

Latching onto the slip of a cigarette from its carton. 

Lord almighty…

“Can you not right now?”

Keith glances over at him, cigarette unlit where it’s perched between his lips. He doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t light it. And...that’s kinda progress...right?

Lance sees it like that. _ Has to… _Has to note even the tiniest of improvements if they’re really gonna be in this thing together. Like how Keith’s frown is much less annoyed but still guarded as Lance crawls into his lap.

“Whadaya gotta be so macho all the time for, huh?” he asks down to him, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and tossing it near his bag in the grass. “Why can’t you just let shit go?” 

Keith’s gaze is tired… Long-since troubled… “You mean like how you let shit with the soccer team go?”

Lance’s eyes narrow. “Touché.”

He’s not a perfect person either. They both know that. Where Keith’s fists get him in trouble, Lance’s mouth is just as bad. Possibly even worse sometimes. And…

Lance pushes forward with a sigh, sending them both into the grass and trying not to let the way Keith looks away get to him. Guarded. Always so fucking guarded. Even when he’s getting fucked within an inch of his life.

The breeze that sweeps over them sends chills down Lance’s spine. “Do you ever top?”

They’re close but he still can’t get that tired blink to come his way. Even with a question popping straight out of left field like this.

But it’s fine. He’s used to it. Just backs up his point, honestly. “You clearly need to get your aggression out. Like...in a constructive way.” The little huff of a chuckle he gets would be cute if it wasn’t dismissive. “I’m not joking.”

Keith lets his eyes roll closed… Lets his head roll to the side… Doesn’t actually _ look at him _until Lance gently forces him to by the jaw. 

And when those eyes open they’re packed with a fire he knew he could stoke in him. Heated. Coaxed as those hands finally come up to land on Lance’s biceps, the world flipping as he twists them around with ease, body-weight solid as he comes out on top.

Lance’s chest lights up from the inside out, the look Keith’s casting down at him more exhilarating than the head rush. 

“So you _ do _top sometimes.” He has to tease it. Has to grin, interest popping off in all the best places.

And he never could’ve seen this coming - never would’ve imagined, fresh off putting Keith in his place against the mulch bags - that it’d all be flipped around. That it’d be him, back pressed to the concrete slabs holding up the bridge. That it’d be Keith, quick as he snaps his hips, bruised hand holding Lance’s leg up tight against his waist.

That it’d _ be this way. _

Because he’s supposed to be bringing Keith down a few pegs. That’s how this all started. But now…

But now it’s grown. Now it’s heavier, Lance surprised by the punch Keith packs but definitely not complaining, both of them tucked away under the bridge - away from anyone else - away from the moonlight. 

It’s Keith returning all his kisses - tasting like smoke and blood and all the things Lance shouldn’t chase after but does. 

It’s Keith’s fingers - metallic on Lance’s tongue as he wraps his lips around them because the two of them may be hidden away but he still has to shut the fuck up about it. Still has to be cautious - which is proving to be more and more difficult as Keith works off his aggression because _ fuck he’s got a lot of it - _hips pitching forward almost angrily.

But it’s what Lance told him to do.

It’s what he suggested.

And even if he can’t get Keith to fuck off with the fighting, he can get him to focus on this. On him. On working it out, teeth grit in concentration, head falling against Lance’s shoulder as his hips stutter, it all washing over him and Lance following close after.

He never could’ve seen it coming. 

But here he is.

Here they are, breaths heavy and labored as they stare at each other and Lance kisses him, used to the hand that comes to push him off because it always does - always at first - a knee-jerk reaction but then Keith is softening and falling right back in.

Blood.

Cigarette smoke.

Concrete against Lance’s back as he’s pushed against it yet again and-... And he has to smile, “Hey…” still panting as he holds him off to catch his breath before it all begins again. “Easy, tiger...”

The night is young.

And now it's Lance's turn.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

“-fffuck… _ Jesus, _Keith…” 

Lance’s body pitches up against the brick, his uniform slacks dropped just low enough and belt clanging with every thrust into him.

Keith is pissed. 

Keith’s pissed and Lance knows it because he’s currently working it all off on him, his hips snapping like he’s got an axe to grind as the rest of the world moves along on the other side of the small building of bathrooms.

He doesn’t know what’s got him so angry at this exact moment in time, but he does know that it’s coming to a head. That it’s only a matter of seconds before it all comes boiling over. That all he has to do is grit his teeth against the insane urge to voice how pleased Keith’s dick leaves him for just a few more thrusts and then-

Keith tips over quickly but quietly, his hips dropping into a slow grind while he leans back to watch himself work in and out of Lance’s ass as he cums.

It’s hot.

Yeah.

Lance will admit that they’ve definitely come a long way since that first nasty fuck against the mulch bags, but...

“Ever thought about doin’ this in a _ bed?” _

It comes out sarcastic and short but Keith’s too busy catching his breath to care anyway, attention divided. “Whaddaya mean…” 

Like…

Okay… They did it once in the ravine under the stars, which was _ kinda _what Lance is aiming for, he guesses, but-

Keith pulls out, letting Lance’s leg drop from his hip so he can take a step back. 

Lance took too long to answer. Was too stuck in his head. 

Alright fine, he’ll just say it.

“Be fucking romantic with me.”

They’re dating, for Christ’s sake. They’re boyfriends. Surely they can afford to upgrade a _ little _from fucking behind the bathrooms. 

Keith stares him up and down but doesn’t say anything as he rolls the condom off - not judgy - just like he’s working too much out in his head at once. 

This wasn’t the time to bring this up. Not when he’s pissed about something. 

Ugh.

Lance waves it off, “Never mind,” getting to work with his own pants and buckling his belt without looking, “I have practice.” Wish him luck with _ that _after getting slammed within an inch of his short life. “I’ll see you later or something.”

He plucks his bag from the ground and slips it over his shoulder, tie nice and straight again as he comes forward to plant a chaste but heartfelt kiss at the corner of Keith’s mouth.

And then he’s off toward the stadium. 

And...

Can he be annoyed at Keith for not answering if he doesn’t give him a chance to? Is that fair?

Probably not.

_ _ _

It’s not a big deal. 

They don’t _ have _to be romantic. Lance definitely isn’t expecting any lovey dovey shit from a guy like Keith, but-... 

Ugh whatever. 

It’s not a big deal!

“Please don’t drop me.”

Lance lets his attention fix back on Pidge as they peer down at him from where they’re perched on his and Kinkade’s shoulders. “Pidge, you know I got you.”

“I know that _ face. _ And it’s not your I-got-you face.”

Ugh. 

Lance over-corrects. Hams it up with a too-wide-eyed look of attention blasted right up at his friend because he swears to god he can focus. 

“Creepy, but better.”

“Thank you.”

And besides, joke’s on Pidge because he can definitely focus on not dropping them _ and _bitch about his romance-less relationship with Keith in his head. So ha!

He nails it for almost the entire practice, keeping everything on the down-low and hitting points like a boss. 

It’s only towards the end that he slips up - when the familiar figure returns to his spot under the bleachers in the corner of Lance’s eye.

He would try to ignore it like he did all the other times, but something about it is different. Something about _ him - Keith - _watching from the shadows.

Because it’s no longer brooding.

No longer threatening.

It’s just Keith, hands tucked in his pockets like usual, but eyes tracking Lance in an almost curious way. 

Like he’s…

Trying to figure something out…

“Ten more minutes, man. You can do it.”

Kinkade’s voice barely registers in Lance’s brain. But he knows he’s got a point. Knows he has to focus.

Tears his attention away from the bleachers and runs through the drill again, eyes forward.

And when he glances back - for just one second - Keith is gone.

* * *

Saturday night. 

Full moon.

The movie they sneak into has already started, but Lance doesn’t even care. He’s just pleasantly surprised that he got this to work - that he convinced Keith to go somewhere with him that isn’t all dark and secret.

Well-... Technically the movie theater is dark, but whatever. Point is, they’re out. Together. On what Lance could, should, and will consider a date. And _ yes, _ there’s a rather large part of him that’s still in shock that he’s here with Keith at _ all, _but the heart wants what it wants, god damn it. And Lance’s heart...?

The woman on the huge screen in front of them screams bloody-murder, Lance’s hackles raising from both the startle and the downright fucking shrillness of it. 

He’s not even super following what’s going on yet (those first fifteen minutes they missed must’ve been plot-heavy) but he’s seen just enough to put him on edge - enough to scrunch up again from another scream and drag Keith’s hand off the arm rest and into his lap so he can fidget with his fingers.

It doesn’t go unnoticed, of course. But Lance isn’t gonna validate whatever look Keith’s throwing him right now with any sort of response. He’s just gonna sit here, stewing in his own tension, as the movie plugs away in front of them.

Because now, at least, he’s got something in his hands to mess with and fight off the jump-scare buildup. Now, at least, he can play absentmindedly with Keith’s fingers - can fiddle around and run his thumb over the tips of all of them one by one... Huh, this dude definitely bites his nails. Talk about a-

_ CRASH! _

_ Noooo _ no no - Lance’s shoulders stiffen against the sudden lightning tear that illuminates the demon lurking behind the woman - his heart peeling off at a hundred miles a minute and _ yes, he knows he’s squeezing Keith’s hand but- _

“Why’d you pick this one if you’re gonna be a huge baby about it…”

Lance can’t ignore that one, the rest of the theater erupting in scattered laughter after getting played by the jump scare just like him, but his attention instead directed right where Keith’s slouching in the next seat over. 

Because excuse him!

“It’s a scary movie!” he hisses, “You’re _ supposed _to be scared!” What kind of psychopath-

_ CRASH! _

Again! 

Lance squeezes Keith’s hand in spite of himself. But only because it’s there! It’s there and he’s not giving it back, alright? Not _ now - jesus, _that’s just not happening!

Keith must catch on, because he lets his gaze hold for a moment more, but then goes back to watching the terrors unfolding before them with nothing more than a tired blink.

Definitely a psychopath.

Lance stuffs himself down into his seat.

Drags the pad of his thumb over the lines of Keith’s palm.

Absolutely - under _ no circumstances _\- lets himself be bullied for jumping during a jump-scare. Ever again.

_ _ _ 

The moon hangs heavily in the sky as they emerge from the theater, Lance not realizing just how badly he needed the fresh air until it’s given to him.

Because _ lord, _that was definitely a killer of an ending. (No pun intended.)

“I need a drink.”

It’s the first thing he’s said all night that has Keith reacting on a dime, those eyes landing on him, but not in a bitchy way like before. “Yeah?”

“Yeah - now that I’m not about to have a _ fucking heart attack.” _ Like really, how many pop-ups can one movie have? “Don’t got too much dough knockin’ around in the wallet, though-”

“It’s fine.”

Oh boy. _ That _ was an awfully quick answer. 

Alright. Color him intrigued. “Is it?” 

“Mhm.”

“We’re not robbing a liquor store, are we?” It’s a joke, Lance falling into step beside Keith, who has already set off in apparently the right direction. “Because I didn’t bring my nylons.”

Another joke. Neither land like they would for a normal human being. 

But those were more for Lance anyway. 

“Just relax,” Keith says, which for some reason doesn’t do too much for Lance in the relaxation department. But he also can’t fight the curiosity that’s been managing to worm its way around more and more lately. 

So he follows, side-by-side as Keith leads them into the night.

_ _ _

The house at the end of the path they walk up is massive - probably more mansion-status if he had to say.

The porch lights are on, but the inside seems dark, Lance not exactly sure if he’s in the mood to get his party on until the dawning realization that won’t be the case. Because Keith’s-...

He’s moving off the path...to head around toward the side of the house.

“Hey…” Lance calls after him, “Where’re you going?”

And o-...kay, he’s certainly giving that front door a wide berth, isn’t he.

_ “Keith-” _

“Just c’mere.” His voice is too low. Too secretive. Too sly for his own good, but god _ damn _it, if it doesn’t get Lance going in a very specific type of way.

Fuck.

Lance drops to a crouch he’s sure he doesn’t need, making quick work of thinning the space in the yard between himself and where Keith is now peering through a dark bay window on the side of the house. 

Fucking serious? 

“Keith-”

“Shut _ up?” _ He’s looking at him like he can’t believe Lance is still talking. Like he’s surprised he actually has to tell him to shut up when they’re this close to whatever the fuck but _ excuse him! _

_ Are they really gonna break into this random person’s house? _

Lance runs a hand down his face to steady himself, watching with morbid interest as Keith slips his fingers under the thin opening in the window and slowly lifts it open. 

It’s like watching a mastermind delinquent. 

A mastermind delinquent he’s horny for, on top of all that.

And honestly, it’s only a matter of time before something goes wrong, but Keith looks far from stressed about it, hoisting himself up and slipping through the window like it’s not a big fucking deal but _ wait- _

“W-...” Jesus Christ - an oh-so-quiet whisper after him into the dark house: _ “Keith!” _

The silence that answers him is ominous, the smell of lavender and burning wood quick to hit Lance’s nose even from here. 

But then movement. Quick but silent. And Lance probably shouldn’t be so happy to see Keith’s face after, what - _ ten seconds? _ \- but the little spike his heart does in his chest is notable. And it’s even heavier when Keith keeps that eye contact, and then reaches both hands out.

For…

For _ him. _

For him to climb in.

Lance shakes away the warning bells in his brain - fights off the images of people getting killed in the movie they just saw and takes Keith’s hands with a huff, using the help to slip through the window and into the mansion himself. 

It’s a fucking rush - all of it - Lance’s pulse hammering away in his chest even as the lavender wraps around him again. Because he’s hanging onto Keith’s hand, following as quietly as possible but too fucking nosy to not take in every detail he can on the way.

The nice dark furniture.

The wood floors.

The chandeliers catching light off the moon. 

“We’ll be quick,” Keith murmurs, his hand dropping away. Lance would fixate on it, but right now he’s busy questioning the total lack of worry in his tone. And more importantly, how he’s not even whispering.

“Who the hell lives here?” Lance is still gonna whisper, though.

“It’s fine, just c’mon.”

The floor creaks under their footsteps as they move deeper into the house, and Lance can’t help but remember how it had done the same for the woman before the demon snuck up behind her.

But he’s gonna keep his cool. He’s not gonna be a baby. He’s gonna follow after Keith, on a mission but still pouring over every hint he can on their way. 

Like the wall plaques he can’t make out in the dark. 

The medals.

The picture on the side table - a man and his daughter - the girl tiny compared to his huge stature - all built and mean and the patch over his eye making him even more-

Lance’s blood ices over.

Eyes widen, those alarms _ really _going off in his head now because-

Keith’s untroubled as Lance grabs his arm and pulls him to a stop, forcing his attention because-

_ “Iverson? Are you fucking kidding me?” _

This has to be a joke! They can’t seriously be in Iverson’s fucking house right now, can they-

Keith wrenches his arm out Lance’s hold - _ annoyed. _ Fucking _ annoyed _but holy shit, Lance thinks he has a right to be causing a scene!

_ “Keith-” _ his stage whisper is too loud and he knows it but he can’t help it as he stalks after him. _ “Keith when I said I wanted something more romantic, I meant something cute! Not something that’s gonna get both our asses expelled!” _

Their headmaster’s house!

They broke into their headmaster’s fucking house!

It’s just about enough for Keith, the annoyance in his eyes fiery as he turns around again. “Will you relax? Look.” 

He doesn’t give Lance a chance to hit back, instead forcing him to stand in the doorway in front of them, the flickering light finally registering with the smell of burning wood in Lance’s brain. Because it’s a fireplace. A huge one. And more importantly…

Lance can’t believe his eyes. Can’t fathom the image of the man in question, stretched out on the couch, whisky glass empty where it lies on the floor, the bottle catching each flicker of the fire from the table.

...oh.

“He gets blitzed out of his mind on Saturday nights,” Keith explains from their spot. “We’re fine, alright?”

It’s far too casual.

Far too knowing.

And it’s done with far too soon, Lance left in the doorway as Keith moves on without another word. 

So...

Okay, holy shit - there’s so much to unpack later. But for now - for the _ task at hand _\- the stakes have just been drastically lowered. 

But _still-_

“Okay but-...” Lance calls softly after him, “I thought you said we were getting something to drink.” 

“We are.” 

...Christ, almighty...

Lance lets out a steadying breath, head shaking but legs carrying him right after the one who led him here in the first place. 

It's clearly not Keith’s first time doing this here. And if he had to guess, he’d say Keith knows _ exactly _where to go to get what they came for, that much clear as he comes to a stop in front of a dark wooden cabinet in a room off the kitchen.

He opens it without a word... Crouches to card through the selection on the bottom shelf...

It leaves Lance to look around, his gaze bouncing from ugly painting to ugly painting to the tune of glass knocking delicately against each other.

“Here.”

Keith’s holding a bottle up to him when he gets back with it, the brown liquid gleaming in the moonlight. 

Lance takes it from him with absolutely _ not enough guilt, _and he’s not about to try to explain to himself why. Not right now. Not when they’ve got a task and his pulse is still hammering away and-...

Hang on…

Is this where Keith gets all the whisky they always share at the ravine?

“See if there’s anything good in the fridge.”

Finally, it’s Lance’s turn to shoot him a look. “Seriously?”

“You’re hungry aren’t you?”

...okay, yeah. He could definitely snoop around for something to eat.

The whisky swishes in its bottle as Lance breaks off for the first time tonight to explore the kitchen. It’s exactly as nice as the rest of the house - marble counter tops and all that good shit. 

But Lance needs to focus. Because being suddenly alone in a high-stakes situation is not something his nerves are taking kindly to. And hey, remember that part in the movie when she was walking around in the kitchen by herself and then that demon popped up and killed her?

Yeah okay, never mind on the food.

Lance shuts the refrigerator as quietly as possible before high-tailing it out of there, ready to be back in someone else’s presence and out from the clutches of the demon except-

Lance stalls in the room with the liquor cabinet, his nerves rising when he finds it empty.

“...Keith?”

Oh _ fuck _no. 

Not really, right? 

Okay, it’s fine... He just probably moved on to steal something from another room... 

The floor creaks under each of his footfalls as Lance peeks around the corner with a whispered, “Hey…” into the abyss. 

Nothing.

Just an empty room. And an empty hallway. And holy shit, his nerves are _ way _too high for this right now. “Keith seriously, fuck off with this shit…”

Around the corner, past the hallway flickering with the light from the fireplace and back into the kitchen and _ oh god, he’s really gonna get eaten by a demon, holy- _

“Ff-_mmmph!” _

He can see it coming from a thousand miles away but it still gets him - still has his heart leaping from his throat as Keith appears from the shadows with mischief in his eyes and a hand over Lance’s mouth and _ it’s a damn good thing because GOD. _

The rush of adrenaline that washes over Lance’s brain has him almost giddy - has him outrageously relieved - has his laugh muffled under Keith’s hand as it hits him and hits him hard and Keith is-...

Keith is-...smiling…

He’s smiling.

Lance has never actually…

...uh...

Lance’s heart flips again, but for an entirely different reason. Because everything’s sort of melting away where it shouldn’t. The lavender. The crackle of the fire down the hall. It’s all background noise, Lance’s lips parting as Keith slowly lowers his hand, his gaze heavy and close.

“This…” Lance whispers, “...is a good time to kiss me...”

A nudge in the right direction, but that’s all he needs - all Keith has to hear before letting his hand drop to Lance’s throat - a little leverage - and then closing the space between them.

It plucks the breath from Lance’s lungs, rough around the edges but in all the best ways. The ways he’s growing more and more fond of. Even when they’re somewhere they shouldn’t be, in the middle of doing something they shouldn’t do. It's almost better that way.

But...for now at least, they need to get the fuck out of Iverson’s house - romantic moment finally happening or not.

As they slip back out the window they came through, Keith lowering it with an expert’s touch, Lance can’t help but reel him back in for one more kiss, his free hand grabbing him by the front of the shirt.

And then they’re off, running back into the night, a bottle of whisky in one hand, Keith’s in his other.

* * *


End file.
